


Woman in Red.  1/1.

by punky_96



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 03:11:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14155386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punky_96/pseuds/punky_96
Summary: Re-post from LJPrompt: mxrolkr’s prompt. Mirandy. Sunset.Summary: You know that I cannot simply write a sunset, I have to write some kind of twist on it like a whole change in life kind of thing or something… So here it is: AU. Miranda runs a small publishing company that has a lot of power because of her connections to others high up in the industry that look to her for her opinion, thus giving her a lot of power, but little to no limelight. She has one assistant and on this particular day has been totally swept up in a new manuscript…Disclaimer: standard disclaimer not mine, no profit...





	Woman in Red.  1/1.

 

 

 

A photograph that fits the mood, if not the story: [LINK.](http://roblang.photoshelter.com/image/I0000cxTeaV0Oimc)  
  
  
“All you umpires, back to the bleachers. Referees, hit the showers. It’s my game. I pitch, I hit, I catch. I run the bases. At sunset, I’ve won or lost. At sunrise, I’m out again, giving it the old try.” - Ray Bradbury  
  
  
 _ **Woman in Red.  1/1.**_  
  
 _I came back to the most romantic place and I started over. There was no beginning and there was no end, so I went to the most romantic spot, which was perhaps somewhere in the middle, but without the ends of the line there was no way to vivisect them._  
  
I always followed where you led, answered the phone even from a deep sleep, and listened for the subtle nuances of speech patterns in order to create in my mind the mosaic of your day.  
  
The plane landed and with breathless anticipation I clutched the backpack in my hand eager to test my too long left unused wings. I felt the motion of the people at the front of the plane as much as I saw them and my foot tapped ready to move. Across the airport, down the escalator, over the tiles, down an elevator, click-click to buy a few days of train—there I was—sitting, watching the world go by, my life on my back. Windows, flat roofs, triangle roofs, hanging gutters, fire escapes, rusted BBQs and broken frame couches left out in the sun—they all passed by in a smorgasbord of life that did not tempt me. My heart beat with the slow deadness of sadness, yet I knew I had to do this—to begin somehow the process of covering my old life with primer—so that when the time came, I could paint over in the glorious colors of love encore.  
  
The hotel was as I remembered it—the same number of steps to the river and beyond it to the pier. ‘I did this.’ I thought to myself as I sat looking out over the unbroken horizon of lake water. The American flags flapped in the fading light and breeze of the day while kids and lovers crawled into the arms of the giant anchor for photographs. We did that once.  
  
It was remarkable to let go of the feelings and accept. I closed my eyes the moment the sun dipped below the line and contemplated how it ‘ends the day’ though light continues in the sky and people continue fluttering about long into the darkness.  
  
I came here to start over and yet I realized that I am always starting over. Just as the waves lap at the shore, receding only to become part of another wave and another, I begin a new day out of the ashes of the old one and I sink below the horizon though my heart and mind continue on through the night into the new dawn.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
It was not going to be a happy story, yet something about it captured her. “Andrea.” She murmured as she turned the page and rested the tip of her index finger on the first word of the second paragraph. Her blue eyes lifted up, taking in the disheveled look of her assistant. “Coffee.” Miranda murmured as she saw the kaleidoscoping shades of brown in the girl’s eyes, which resonated with the emotional textures of her reading. Tucking a strand of long hair behind her ear, Andrea half smiled and then was off. Eyes still full of the whiskey, amber, and gold of her assistant’s eyes, Miranda returned to the manuscript with images already taking shape in her mental movie.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Calls were not taken, coffee appeared and disappeared, food was forgotten. Halfway through the manuscript, Miranda picked up her red pen, marking on the original copy—breaking her own rule. It mattered not, the book would be published and the story told, complete with its simply delicate style and arrangement. Absently, Miranda slipped the small plastic piece meant for clipping the pen to paper between her teeth so that her tongue could rub against the hard plastic, her teeth could worry the plastic edge, and her lips could purse against the bulk as love blossomed on the wings of newness, before dashing themselves from flying to high before thought could be taken. Her blue eyes scanned the pages from behind the protective wall of her glasses, but still her heart hammered in her chest and tears threatened to gather arms and march down her face to blur the ink of the pages.  
  
At last, Miranda sat back, her fingers gently stroking the smooth white paper wondering what the woman’s handwriting looked like. She imagined the feel of heavy pressed letters in broken cursive under her fingers and the smell of ball point ink were she to bend close enough to the paper. Tears might have marred the surface of that original and she found herself quite curious to see it for herself.  
  
“Andrea?” Uncertain of the hour, Miranda looked up into the outer office.  
  
She heard the girl drop various items with a clatter and then heard the pillow fall off the couch as her assistant made her way towards her. With a small smile, Miranda imagined the girl with her legs up, working on her laptop, concentrating on her work or her hobbies. Miranda didn’t care which it was as long as the work was done. The pencil in Andrea’s hair provided the perfect ornamentation to the girl’s bookworm look. Miranda had to admit, after hours of imagining Andrea as the protagonist of the newest novel she would be publishing, the look was growing on her. “Yes, Miranda?” Her brown eyes searched Miranda’s for clues about her day spent fully engrossed in a new manuscript instead of following her schedule of appointments. The sight of the red pen sent a shiver through her frame as she knew the destruction and glory it could harbinger. Original submissions were glanced at, approved for copying or trashed, and then and only then were they read fully and marked in any way. This submission had come in some time ago, Andrea knew, but this morning it had eclipsed protocol, routine, and the normal activity that buzzed around Miranda’s life.  
  
Closing the manuscript and holding it up, Miranda asked, “Where did this come from?”  
  
Looking at her feet, Andrea thought for a moment, then looked up and over her boss’s head to the waning light outside. Pulling out her cell phone, Andrea answered, “I’ll show you.” She held up her finger to hold Miranda’s words as she turned back into the outer office. A few minutes later she held Miranda’s purse and nodded at Miranda’s questioning brow.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
The wooden pier was not entirely deserted on a weekday, but sitting in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge it seemed to capture the mood of the novel completely. The breeze picked up a slight coolness from the water; however, the humidity wouldn’t allow them to chill. Andrea stood with her hands on the heavy dark brown of the wooden beams of the railing looking out towards the bridge and other things that Miranda was sure she would not see even if she stood exactly where the girl was.  
  
Her mind framing the picture of a beautiful young woman, looking off into the future, surrounded by the dark wood and the black metal fixtures, next to the glint of the silver metal of the telescope, Miranda breathed in and out for many moments as the sunset ticked off the final degrees of its visible path. Andrea’s eyes closed the moment the sun dipped below the horizon and she breathed in deeply. Miranda gasped as the remembered words, her mental movie, and a version of reality coalesced beautifully in her mind.  
  
“Andrea?” Quietly she queried the long silent girl, and reached out a tentative hand. It was only then that she had realized her eyes had been trained on Andrea and not the sunset.  
  
“I told you: I’d show you.” Andrea smiled and for the first time, Miranda realized that she wasn’t just some fresh-faced girl. No, now Miranda saw the subtleties in her eyes that spoke of gold for the passions, and almost black for the sadness and anger, while the more subtle shades hinted at wisdom, joy, and constancy. Miranda felt her heart double pump with that realization and the rare sense of overwhelming emotion in the moment. “It’s not the same as Chicago, but,” Andrea waved with her free hand out at the view, while her other wrist turned and her fingers held Miranda’s, “it will do.” Her nod made another strand of hair fall from her bun and Miranda reached to tuck it behind her ear, moving her body to stand facing the young woman.  
  
Andrea remained facing the fading colors on the stone and metal structure, the far buildings, and even the water. Her palm was warm against Miranda’s skin, and the older woman gently stroked her thumb against it. Her eyes studied the side of Andrea’s face, the curve of her lips, the wisps of hair blowing in the slight breeze, the loose fabric of her shirt, and the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Miranda thought of all that she knew of her assistant, which wasn’t much, and how close they were able to work together without Miranda feeling the need to push her away with ridiculous errands, or fire her. Never had she really considered what was within the heart of the woman who had slipped ever closer to her. Now she had read it. Word for word, emotion for emotion, she had felt the ebb and flow of life for her trusted companion now from her own lens.  
  
“You went to Chicago two months after you started working for me.” Andrea nodded, but still watched the landscape. Miranda added up the details of the novel with the facts of her assistant’s life. Then it hit her with as much hope as she felt at the end of the book, she realized what else Andrea had said without saying anything at all. Her question fell from suddenly dry lips. “Who is the woman in red?”  
  
A coast guard boat cut through the water below them, but neither attended to it.  
  
Tilting her head away, Andrea turned her body to face Miranda as she pulled their clasped hands against her body. Miranda stepped into the embrace, her eyes searching Andrea’s for an answer. “You.” Andrea smiled, lifting the sadness from her eyes as her cheeks rose and her lips parted to show her teeth. Wrapping her other arm around Miranda to firmly press their bodies together, Andrea repeated, “You.”  
  
Leaning in simultaneously, their lips met as Miranda’s arm rose up and her fingers dipped into that dark brown hair, pulling the bun out. The pencil fell with a quiet clatter as their lips parted and tongues quested for the first time to find each other. The sunlight faded into darkness, the waters of the river continued to flow and the lights of the city twinkled on for miles around them.  
  
 **Fin.**  
  
x


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